Khira. The story of a thrall.

"It's the seventh day of the seventh month. I've killed eighty men in the past week, and I am immensely tired, but I want that reward. Why did I listen to that voice? When was it ever a good idea to follow the commands of a disembodied voice?" A lone Argonian sits on a large stone tablet at the base of a flight of one hunderd steps. "My scales almost look red from all the bloodshed. You can barely see that they are supposed to be black. I can't believe that I have to do this without armor, and why am I not allowed to wear shoes? My feet are freezing and sore, but I still have to walk up the stairs to claim what I was promised." He releases a deep sigh, and starts to ascend the stairs. He is trying to retain heat as much as possible by crossing his arms, and using a pelt as a hood, but quickly finds that the wind is stronger at this elevation, which sends the pelt flying off his head, and over the nearby cliff. " This better not have been a childish prank that I was dumb enough to fall for, and if it was a daedra, this better not be a scam."

The second option is supposed to say: Yes, there's awesome loot.

With only a very limited amount of clothing, he starts to feel the effects of hypothermia setting in. His body shakes rapidly in an attempt to generate heat, and the skin of his feet is blistered, cracked, and dry. "Those damn Daedra. I think they are trying to kill me. Well, when I get my hands on them I will strangle the life out of 'em." As he finishes his rant, he reaches the top to see a very interesting weapon. It seems to be some sort of two handed weapon, but not like most that some merchant would sell. It was a scythe. "Hm. This is peculiar. A daedra gives me directions to a weapon and doesn't make me jump through a bunch of hoops to even touch it. Except for the eighty men I killed, though I don't think it planned for that to happen." Khira grabs the weapon, but immediately zones out into a subconscious state. "Well done. I thought the cold would've killed you before you reached this place. You know the deal, I ask you to do a small, insignificant task for me while utilizing my weapon, and you get to keep it." Before Khira can ask any questions, he snaps back to reality where he is wearing his banded iron armor, boots, and gauntlets. "Well, at least it has the courtesy to give me my armor back, but why didn't I realize I would have to do something for it when I pointed out that you usually have to do errands for the reward?" He promptly leaves now that he has no reason to stay, and vacantly stand about.

I voted for the 'Deadra profits' but only as i like my Deadric toys.

I like that i don't recognise the Deadric item or Deadra involved. I'm hoping you keep this story going, i think it would work well with longer installment parts. As you seem to have a good character, that way you would have more time to flesh out the story and develop the character, which i like. Looking forward to more.

Honestly I just came up with the weapon on the spot, but I might be able to get something out of it, and Khira is supposed to be based on my inner thoughts in said situation, but I'll provide some backstory (and a better physical description) eventually.

(This chapter along with future chapters will be based off the life, & backstory of Khira. What he says will be purely from his point of view instead of mine.)

It's been ten long days since Khira received the weapon, but up to yet he has not had any communication with the mysterious daedra. He has been sitting around in his home at Riften, and trying to identify the voice. "Nothing! I have nothing! I have read over these books eighteen times by now, and there is nothing on this weapon! No matter how much research I do there is no mention of it anywhere!" His house is littered with enough reading material to start up a school on Daedric items and all things living in Oblivion, yet none of them hold the information needed. Feeling defeated khira slouches in his chair, and and looks towards the sky, though he's technically looking at his ceiling. "Why was I chosen to be the champion of some obscure daedra that no one has ever heard of? Well thats obvious. Daedra like to find expendable mortals to run around and amuse them. They're just like all people, greedy, self centered, hateful bastards." He sits back up, and reads through his books again, but notices something while flipping through a book on influential daedra through out Tamrielic history, a page has been torn out so it would appear as if it was never there. "Who ripped this page out of my book?! I'm trying to find vital information, and some prick might have removed exactly what I was looking for!" He closes the book, and tosses across the into his pile of useless books, and thinks what to do next. He doesn't know who stole the page, but he does have some ideas who to ask. He knows he obtained the book from the general store in Whiterun, and that the owner could have information on previous owners, or he could simply step outside, and go ask the Thieves guild, directly, if the have the page in their possession. "Well, Whiterun is too far for me to travel there by foot, but I could hire that wagon to take me over, or since I am already in Riften , I can just walk down there and force them to tell me where the page is! No, I couldn't possibly take on the entire guild, and as much I don't want to, I should just ask if they have seen it. If they haven't, I'll just leave, but it'll be complicated to retrieve if they do." After pondering about what would be the easiest way to attempt and find it, he decides he'll travel to Whiterun via wagon, and ask the guy who is filling in for Belathor after their little incident during Khira's previous visit two months ago. "I'll gather some clothes, armor isn't that effective at insulation, though it is better than running around with bare skin present. I think I'll just slap on some light armor and some robes, I don't feel dealing with society, and their gripes. What, does my clothes not matching mean the world is going to explode or something?" He promptly leaves, locking his door, and briskly walks his way over to the carriage. The trip is quite uneventful other than the occasional wolf or bandit, and Khira begins to ponder over the identity of the Daedra who spoke to him. "Malacath? No, that wouldn't make sense. Sanguine? Nocturnal? Azura? No, no, and no. It couldn't be any of them, or any of the other Daedric princes either, but why would a lesser Daedra communicate with me, and how would they gain the power to do that, also I don't think it would be possible for a new prince to exist. I don't know, but Belethor's records might point me in the right direction." The carriage comes to a stop, and Khira departs to find the knowledge he has been seeking.